Page 67 of Sweet Surrender

Before I have time to think or respond or react, his lips close over mine in a kiss that’s teeming with inspiration and predicated on what feels like anger.

It’s exactly what I both craved and feared it would be. What I knew it to be but stepped into with a knowing eye. It’s hungry and toxic and so fucking addicting.

The scrape of his stubble. The warmth of his tongue as it interlaces with mine. The brush of his fingertips up my cheekbones to cup my face. The muted sighs as we move straight past those to pleading moans.

“Jase.” It’s a whisper to myself. To him. An acknowledgment that I don’t want to think and yet my body has already leaped over the cliff without looking.

“Let me,” he murmurs against my lips and his hands thread through my hair and hold my head in place. “Let me erase him.” His eyes hold mine seconds before he lowers his head to lace a long series of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of my shoulder. “Let me show you.” Another tantalizing kiss on my lips. “Let me.” The slide of his strong hands down my back to the bottom of my tank top and then pulling it up and over my head. His strangled groan when he leans back and takes me in is . . . everything.

“Fucking hell, Hendrix.” His words are grated restraint. The tensing of the tendons in his neck a visual confirmation of the grip he has on his control.

He runs a hand down the side of my face and over my chest. The subtle roughness of his drumstick-calloused hands a contrast to the smoothness of my skin. But it feels like everywhere he touches catches fire. My nipples harden and ache as his thumbs brush over their peaks. Goosebumps start and are then chased over my skin by the heat he creates.

His mouth leaves mine in a brutal dismissal to travel down my neck. His lips become teeth, his tongue turns merciless as he tastes every inch of skin between my collarbone and my breasts.

It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s both at once and neither separately.

He lowers his head to take each nipple in his mouth. To tease and suck and lick as I arch into him, lost in the sensation and increasingly feeling as if I’ll never find my way back again.

I don’t even want to.

I’m exactly where I want to be.

His hands are on the flimsy fabric of my shorts, tugging them down my legs until I’m bare before him, stripped down both literally and figuratively. I should feel exposed, but instead I feel powerful. Alive.

Especially when he emits a groan that tells me everything I need to know about how he sees me. How he wants me. How he desires me.

“Spread those thighs for me, Hendrix.” His eyes lock on me and then dart back down to my thighs as he pushes down his sweats.

My breath hitches when his cock springs free. It’s thick and hard and my body aches to feel it.

“Let me see you. Let me savor you.” He kisses his way up the inside of my thigh. Each touch another ignition of embers begging to burn hot. Each slide of his tongue like gasoline on the fire he’s stoking.

And then when he gets to the apex of my thighs, he swipes his tongue ever so slowly up and down the seam of my sex. My hips buck as sensations streak like fucking lightning through me. “Jase.” I cry out his name but only as a means to beg him to do it again.

But when I do, he chuckles. He swirls his tongue around my clit before sucking on it. He tucks two fingers and then three into me as my body welcomes every sensation he evokes and controls.

He’s impatient but unhurried. Desperate but controlled. It’s a contradiction that’s uniquely Jase. Just like the relentless determination he has to break through every barrier I put between us.

It’s working.

I never should have doubted that it would.

His mouth is an addiction in and of itself. The way he teases and tastes me. The way he praises me and encourages me.

But it’s when he leans back up on his haunches, when that cocky smirk has his dimples deepening, when he says, “You’re tight as fuck, Hendrix, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to take all of me,” that I’m pretty sure I died and went to heaven.

I’m not used to dialogue during sex. To being turned on by words. To being made to feel wonderful because of those words.

“Jase,” I beg.

“No. Not yet.” His lips return to my skin as his fingers continue to work in and out of me, his thumb on my clit adding friction and pleasure. “He’s still on your skin. He’s still in your system. Come for me, Hendrix. Loosen that pussy so when I fuck you, you’ll be able to take all of me. You’ll be so full you won’t remember what anyone feels like but me.”

“Jase,” I whisper again, this time more of a plea. This time hoping that my voice alone will make him snap. Will push him to give me what I want—him. Inside me.

In every part of me.

A knowing smile pulls at his lips, like he’s aware that even though I think I still have control, I’ve already surrendered it to him in full. He keeps a steady pace with his fingers as I moan and writhe beneath him before finally letting one word slip from my lips. “Please.”